Will I?
by Eurgh
Summary: How exactly did Jean Grey contract AIDS? How did the former poster child for perfection sink so low? This is my story. I didn't mean for it to happen. But, now it's too late to take it all back, and I can never be sorry enough. RR
1. Chapter 1: We're So Damn Sorry

**Howdy! I recently saw RENT, and was inspired to write this. Note: the next chapters are to be written in past tense, as Jean is recalling how exactly she DID get into this mess. Anyway, I know I should be focused on "The Price" but... honestly, I'm considering dropping it and simply adding the alternae ending I originally had written to the end of Left in Scarlet Wake. I feel almost like I've wasted a halfway decent tragedy. Enjoy!**

**Full summary: What happened to perfect Jean Grey? How did she get addicted? How did she, of all people, contract AIDS? Why is she the one to die? She's the last person to know. As she fights a losing battle with Death and her friends are helpless, only on thing is for sure- things can never be the same for anyone at the Xavier Institute. **

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_Will I lose my dignity?_

_Will someone care?_

_Will I wake tomorrow from,_

_This nightmare?_

_-_RENT

**Chapter One : We're So Damn Sorry**

How did I get here? I watch, trying not to flinch, as the needle pierces the tender skin of my inner arm, and draws out my blood. Funny that I, of all people, would flinch at a needle, I muse as I look at the pinprick scars dotting the once-delicate skin on my arm. The furry man in a lab coat stands and looks at the vial of my blood- oh my blood, don't take it, I need it!- and grins wryly at me.

"Jean, it gets harder every time."

I bet so Mr. McCoy. Nobody ever thought it'd be me, now did they? No one ever figured that I would end up this way.

I return the grin, my chapped lips moaning in protest.

How did I, the perfect Jean Grey, end up breathing through a tube in the infirmary? How did I get the raw deal, end up with the consequences I shouldn't have? It's always someone else, some other person that gets hooked, someone else that gets caught, a different person breathing through the damn tube, having her T-cells checked for the third time in less than a week! Today, I'm the someone else. Because, this time, it's me being tested, me breathing through a damn tube, me having her T-cells checked for the third time in less than a week.

This time, it's me that's dying.

"I have bad news."

I don't get good news anymore. It began with the rehab. Jean, we have bad news. You are addicted to heroin and cocaine and all sorts of shit. Jean, we have bad news. You have been diagnosed with the HIV virus, you are now a part of the secret club of terminally ill people. Jean, we have bad news. Your T-cells are dropping, and we think it has developed into AIDS. Jean, you have less than three months to live.

We're so damn sorry.

"I know, my T-cells are dropping, I'm just getting sicker." I reply absently, softly. He grins. "It could be worse. I'm lucky."

"Positive as ever, I see."

I'm not lucky and I'm not positive, but I'm still Jean. I'm still perfect Jean Grey, the girl that could have made it to Harvard, the girl that had the chance to be whatever she wanted before she fucked up and ruined the beautiful image.

He turns and fiddles with an IV, eager to leave. No one like to see me thin and broken, running out of time, dying. I lean back into my pillows, closing my eyes just as a loud knock interrupts whatever rest I could have gotten.

"Hi, Jean." Kitty steps tentatively into the room, gripping a bottle of blue nail polish like it's her only lifeline. Rogue follows, hiding behind a bouqet of flowers someone roped her into bringing down to me.

"Hey guys." I smile. I'll admit, it wasn't my goal to die at just twenty years old. But at least I've got friends (who would have ever thought I'd refer to Rogue as a friend?) and I'm not alone. Kitty unscrews the blue nail polish, a smile in place like always. She gently takes my hand, and begins to paint. Rogue plops into a chair, a sour smile in place as she sets the flowers in a vase.

"Scott's busy with the New Recruits, but he'll be in soon." Kitty says chipperly, like I'm not dying, like I'm not breathing through a tube in my nose, like I can still swallow on my own, like I'm still fucking perfect Jean Grey.

"He doesn't have to come." I sigh. "But I appreciate it."

"How ya feelin', Red?" Rogue asks, her eyes averted to look out the window as beautiful snow flakes meeting the warm earth. Part of me wonders why she even cares; ever since I was diagnosed, she's been weird, dancing on the edge to watch over me inconspicuously. As I've gotten weaker, my telepathy has joined the losing fight, and I can't read her mind.

"Like crap. I'll get through it."

And my words hang in the air, because I won't get through it, because I will die, because they cannot bear to tell me the truth. Kitty focuses on my pinky, and Rogue just looks away. People always think she is brutally honest, but she can't bear to remind me that I will die?

"Anyway, I'm just glad to have some company."

"Oh my God, it must get so boring in here!" The valley girl jumps on the chance to change the subject.

"Yeah, it does." I reply softly.

It gets lonely, and I am left alone with my thoughts far too often.

"Hey Jeanie." Scott hurries in, leaning down to give me a gentle kiss on the cheek. I smile at him, and Rogue is quick to give up her seat to him. I doubt it's a remnant of the old crush; she is always uncomfortable when she visits me.

"So, Jean, have you told your family yet?" Kitty asks softly, waving a casual good bye as her friend leaves the room.

"No."

Why would I tell my family, those that need to think I am perfect even more than anyone else? I don't know what I'll do; maybe they'll just find out at my funeral, and I'll never have to deal with it. That would be the easiest thing to do. No one can imagine how hard it would be for me to admit the drugs, the AIDS, the mistakes. '

Yes, they can find out when purple lilacs and tiger lilies and classic roses decorate my casket, tied with a red ribbon. Sometimes I think it's bad to think of my funeral like it's my wedding.

"Eventually-" Kitty begins sadly. I know what she'll say; they deserve to know, and they will eventually. Spare yourself the trouble, and just tell them. You'll feel better, and they can say their good- they can spend some time with you.

"Well, I don't think I have to worry about eventually!" I interrupt her, irritable suddenly. "I'll be dead by the time eventually comes around."

The room is silent, and even Kitty is just staring, slack-jawed. When did Jeannie get so mean? I don't really know when the change happened, when I suddenly started caring more about myself than everyone around me. It hurts to admit it. Most people are the same, but before all this- I wasn't.

Was I? Could I just not admit it at the time?

"Sorry, sorry, sorry." I whisper.

"It's fine." Kitty says shakily, gently dipping the brush back into the bottle. "You're stressed, and you don't feel well. That would make me a total bitch, not just a little cranky."

I smile at the understanding girl. A small cough tears out of my chest, a knife scraping the inside of my throat. Scott runs a hand through my hair, obviously worried, unable to do anything at all. The small fit subsides, and I find myself wondering once again:

How did _I _get here? If anyone were to end up like this, it should have been Tabitha or Rogue, maybe Kitty if we're stretching it. It shouldn't have been me! But, here I am, ice cubes gently rubbed against my parched lips, my nails painted a light blue by Kitty.

It isn't real, it isn't honest, I'm not sick! I don't have AIDS, I never started drugs, I never managed to ruin my life. It's all an illusion. Fake, fake, fake…

But it's real and true. Jean Grey is dying of AIDS before she can even legally drink alcohol.

How the hell did I end up so low?

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**So, yeah. Very short, but it's just an opener. Not the best of my writing, but it should improve. Now this will switch between four different POVs: Jean (first person, present tense), Jean (first person, past tense), Third person (past tense), and first person (multiple people, past tense). I may or may not involve journal entries in this. Later on, these will chnge, but you can count on them for awhile.**

**Didja like it? Review and tell me. I would love C+C, as well as any addtional information on the disease I may not know.**


	2. Chapter 2: Sweet Liquid Relief

**Now, this is another iffy chapter. These first few are hard to write, because the reflection confuses me. I don't want to be annoying about it. Eh, sorry about the length. I know, it's not perfect and it's pretty damn short. But read?**

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**Chapter Two : Sweet Liquid Relief**

When did it all begin? That first needle, delicately piercing the white skin and vein? Hiding in the bathroom that morning, my eyes stinging as the powder tingled my dry nostrils? That very first joint, so very tempting that I couldn't resist?

I don't think so. I think it started earlier, before anything was even truly wrong. Back when the world made more sense, back when I wasn't just perfect Jean Grey- but I was also _normal _Jean Grey. Back before the world knew who I was, back when I was naïve and stupid and happy and secret and no one knew and-

I've never told anyone how it began. They demanded to know how I could sink so low, but it's embarrassingly stupid. Was I really so desperate to fit in? So desperate that I would doubt myself and my choices? So desperate to feel better about myself that I would destroy myself in the process? Apparently, because here I am on the bed, dying, broken, gasping for each breath, so tired I can scarcely blink.

It began with one of Duncan's parties. Not _at _the party- oh no, not there. But with, because it began a long road of confusion.

"Jean!"

I tried not to wince as the loud shout came crashing into my room. My head throbbed- imagine that! I had been smashed in the head at the emergency Danger Room session, which in itself had thrown my at least half an hour off schedule. A moment later, a very frustrated Amara Aquilla burst into my room, brandishing a page of equations at me.

"Help! I don't understand this Algebra at all!"

Giving the paper a quick glance, I held in a very angry sigh. It was simple exponents- exponents!- which meant that Amara simply hadn't been paying attention when the professor had explained it. Or, I realized guiltily, she was honestly behind- hence the explanations and classes from the professor before she joined the other New Recruits at school.

Shaking off the unwarranted irritation, I remembered my role as the oldest and, quite honestly, the most school-oriented, girl in the Institute, and couldn't help but feel a bit selfish. Why worry about a party or being late? I was _supposed_ to be selfless, wasn't I? The female leader of a group fighting for equality?

Why should I even be going to a party?

Frustrated with myself, I turned to help the girl with her math. Six different explanations later, she was out the door, and I had ten minutes to finish my makeup and hair, get out the door, and get gas before I was late.

Which, naturally, added some guilt. I shouldn't have been irritated with Amara. This was a few weeks after her arrival at the Institute. She was thousands of miles from her home, in a strange place with very few friends. After all, she was shy, completely ignorant of technology, and overwhelmed by American culture.

That didn't change the fact that I was very late and still waiting for the gas to fill.

It had just been one of those days. The days that you miss breakfast, enjoy a pop quiz in AP Chemistry, and trip at least six times. It was just an awful day, and I had hoped to unwind at Duncan's party. However, considering I would be extremely late, chances were I'd spend the entire thing apologizing for tardiness.

Thirty minutes later, I found myself trying to calm down before I knocked on the door. Stupid girl, I mentally scolded myself, you shouldn't be nervous! He's your boyfriend, he'll forgive you!

I couldn't shake off the feeling, even as he opened the door and welcomed me in with a hug and soft kiss on the cheek. I endured the show of affection- I'll admit, I didn't like him all that much. What a price I paid to appear normal!- with a fake smile.

"I'm so sorry!" I spilled out. "I really don't mean to let time get away from me."

"It's fine, Jeannie." He reassured me.

"No, I'm really sorry- I know, I'm always late because of the other kids, but I'm really sorry." I felt stupid as the excuses and apologies tumbled from my lips. What did I have to prove to them anyway?

Still, I'll admit that I hated being late. All eyes would immediately swivel to meet you, the group's breath hitching as a whole, watching for the tiniest slip-up as you try to mumble out a pathetic excuse. It always made me feel so strange, so alien and alone.

"It's okay." He replied. I noted his eyes were locked on my chest- which, ironically, was well-covered. "Seriously, we don't care if you're a little late every now and then. Makes you seem normal, you know, not so perfect."

Normal, normal, normal. I wondered if, in my desperate attempts to be perfectly normal, I ended up making myself seem strange. After all, it could be unnerving to be faced with "perfection", the ever recurring and extremely annoying theme in my mind.

"Well, I'm sorry." I muttered sourly.

Eyes stuck to my chest, my small chest, well-covered in modesty. What was there to freakin' see?

"It's fine."

Finally, I just excused myself to the bathroom, irritated with him. He could have at least had the decency to look into my eyes! I fumed as I stalked to the bathroom, stewing on my own stupidity. One apology would have been fine! Why did I have to excuse everything I did, no matter what?

But Jean Grey didn't run from her problems. Not back then. With a heaved sigh, I spun on my heel to return to the party. I just wanted to relax. Forget Duncan and his stupid wandering eyes, forget me and my idiotic apologies. I could enjoy myself anyway.

"Jean!" Taryn worked her way over to me. "Hey, girlie. Why are you so late?"

"Oh, some kids needed help with their homework is all." I mumbled out.

"Whatever." She shrugged it off and grinned. "So, I think Duncan wants to spend some time _alone_ with you tonight." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively and laughed.

"Well, he's not." I replied. As usual, I considered breaking it off. Going around telling people that he was going to get the "V" off my neck was more than enough reasons. There was also the incessant sexual references, lingering "accidental" touches, and the many times I had coughed to get him to look up at my face.

But, normal girls stayed with jerks like this happily. I was normal.

"Aw, don't be such a prude!" She teased me, laughing softly. I knew it was a joke- actually, I _hoped_ it was a joke- but rolled my eyes.

"Taryn, I'd rather be a prude than a slut."

"Oh, Jeanie's got out her claws!" She laughed. "Hey, where's Scotty? Normally, he'd be fighting with Duncan."

"Oh, he's, um, not coming." I replied hesitantly. Every once in awhile, I did things without any of the Institute kids. It seemed stupid and vain, but with them I was… a freak. I was the mutant, the powerful Jean Grey, the girl everyone could turn to if Scott wasn't available. Without them… I was normal, I was preppy Jean Grey, the normal teenage girl, the happiest girl alive.

"What a shame." She shook her head sadly. "You know, I'd totally date him if he weren't so hung up on you."

"What?" I blushed. "No, no, h-he's fair game."

"Really?" She looked at me happily. "Awesome!"

"What about you and, um… What's his name?" I was desperate to change the subject.

"Bill? We broke up." Taryn shrugged. "He was kind of a dork anyway, so it's okay."

"Oh."

And then the bottles came out. I was immediately uncomfortable- Jean Grey didn't drink. She was above that.

"C'mon, Baby." Duncan offered me a bottle.

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"Jeeze, everyone does stuff like this!" He groaned.

"I'm not "everyone", Duncan." I rolled my eyes.

"Just take a drink."

"No!"

"Jesus Christ, who doesn't do this stuff? Only the freaks and geeks!" He sighed irritably.

There was that word: freak. Different. I didn't want to be different. I wanted to be normal, normal- I was normal, damn it! Still, he raised an eyebrow and held the drink out to me. I wanted to snatch and drink it, to prove to them that Jean Grey was no freak! I wanted to prove to Jean Grey that she was no freak.

But I could still resist temptation back then. I was strong, I was strong, I was so very strong!

"Duncan, I'll see you Monday." I grabbed my purse. "Bye."

But, on second thought, I grabbed two bottles on the way out. Just to keep them from drinking them. I didn't want anyone else to get hurt. That was all.

Besides, what allure could there possibly be to sweet liquid relief?

I agonized about taking the bottles for days, maybe weeks- I can't really remember now. I had them stashed beneath my bed, the last place anyone would expect to find alcohol. Why didn't I throw them away as soon as I left? Why did they occupy my mind all the time, curiously or angrily? It was all I could focus on, those lonely bottles, collecting dusk as I tossed in the night.

I can't remember what made me snap and drink one. I think it was another bad day- a fight with Duncan or Scott, a bad grade on a test, a bad session? Any of the three? Whatever the reason, I found myself popping open that lid and sipping the drink.

It was awful. It tasted horrible, and burned as it trailed down my throat. You might ask why I kept drinking? Oh, I don't remember details anymore. Not as I lie dying. Details don't matter anymore. I think I was proving something to myself. But I forget what.

I do remember that, after the first bottle, I felt damn good. I was light and high and happy and loose and free and so many other wonderful things. I downed the next bottle more easily, and felt even more grand and wonderful.

Of course, as alcohol always does, it sent me into a spiraling crash. But I'll never forget that feeling of lightness, of immortality and insanity. I don't thing, in retrospect, I would have done it if I could see myself now.

But I did it then, and here I am.

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**So, another iffy chapter. Meh. Please, feel free to criticize. I don't care much for flames, but I'll take 'em. It's just better to offer ways to improve, kay? Hugs and kisses, everyone!**

**NOTE: My life is kinda crazy right now, and I'm kinda sad. So, if updates are slow, please be understanding.**


	3. Chapter 3: Anything to Forget Grief

**Howdy! I'm gonna be pretty busy for the next couple of weeks, so wait for an update. It'll be slow. Enjoy!**

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**Chapter Three : Anything to Forget Grief**

No one is surprised as the tired girl slumps- rather ungracefully, the small brunette notes- into sleep. She seems to sleep more and more as of late. The brilliant red locks she once admired are now a tangled waterfall over her face, the once flawless ivory skin pale, bruised, and taunt. Dark circles rim her bloodshot eyes, regardless of the amount of sleep she gets.

Oh, no, she's not the beauty she once was, not by a long shot. You can easily count her ribs, the poor girl having lost enough wait to be disgustingly thin. Her collarbones jut out sharply, tugging on the ash skin. Everything about her ragged and sharp, all her gentle curves and smiles stolen by a disease. Her hair has grown thin and tangled, lost its luster.

The brunette feels almost guilty for her youthful beauty remaining intact as she tugs on a strand of shiny hair.

How long ago was it that everything changed? She can scarcely remember. Perhaps sophomore year (granted, she didn't know at the time)? Oh, Katherine Pryde is unsure, now in her senior year of high school- did you not realize that the young girl you've grown to love has grown so much? Yes, yes, Kitty is now well past worrying about keeping her permit and getting her license- she's about to be in college, for God's sake!

When did it all change? She supposes it was when Jean first grew irritable and sickly, a few years back. Now, of course, she understands it was drugs, the blasted needles that gave her friend this deadly little friend.

The girl, now older and hardly more mature than she was when you knew her, runs a hand through her long-ish hair. It hangs loosely to touch her shoulders. She hasn't the time these days to worry about putting it up or making it pretty. She honestly didn't think being a senior would be so difficult. When she isn't with her dying redhead, she is busy with schoolwork or missions or the Danger Room or countless other activities. Of course, she reminds herself bitterly, quite a bit may have to do with that one stupid gene.

She realizes that she's gone another day without eating and groans in unison with her stomach. She has wasted- no, spent, spent, a day with Jean is never wasted- another day in the infirmary.

Oh, life truly is cruel. Jean Grey, a mere twenty years old, has less than three months to live. Oh ,yes, she overheard the loud whisper to Scott. Even if she hadn't, with the loud sob coming from the poor man, it's not as if she couldn't have figured it out. Hank McCoy really shouldn't mention such things when she is near if he plans to keep them a secret.

How hard it is for her to believe that her friend is dying! How strange that Jean would be dying. No, Kitty doesn't believe it, try as she might. She does try to believe, to make it easier on herself in the long run. But how can someone so positive be practically ensnared by cruel Death? Never has she heard Jean so much as whimper a complaint, aside from the occasional murmur of being chilled or perhaps having a small headache, and may she please have some medicine.

Kitty shakes her head, to clear her mind. Sometimes, she wishes her friend would just slip into that eternal slumber. She knows it is cruel. She knows she shouldn't think that way. But it's too hard to watch her die, because she cannot focus on anything else. No one can, in these last months, it seems. Any time she lets herself be distracted, even for a moment, she feels guilty because Jean doesn't have enough time for distractions. Damn! Why must she allow things to preoccupy her so?

She knows, she knows- Kurt has told her countless times that worrying so much doesn't even do her friend any good. But it's not that it's Jean- she would do the same for anyone. Perhaps more if it were Kurt or Rogue. A friend is dying, can't he see that she doesn't have time to remember to eat some days or do that silly assignment? She'll make up for it later, once the girl is dead, once she can breathe without guilt again.

Her reaction, even by unbiased standards, is not too bad in comparison with the others. They are a tight knit family, these X-Men. Even Rogue- imagine that, the girl that dislikes the redhead most!- carries an obvious burden with her at all times. She is withdrawn, far more than usual. Not as her usual defense, but simply of sadness.

The original teams has taken it hardest. The New Recruits- well, they aren't really new anymore and have made their own team by this point- take it harder than the newest team members. So much can happen in two and a half years, you see, particularly around this place. It's no wonder no one noticed the redhead as the drug addiction worsened.

But, oh yes, the original team- they have taken a horrible turn. How can they function without her? Kurt has alienated himself from them, from his sister and best friends, to turn to newer recruits that need help and jokes. He always did deal with grief by hiding from it, and this situation is no different. Rogue has withdrawn entirely, from everything. She no longer has an air of pride and strength about her- guilt and regret is pungent wherever she walks.

Scott, oh Scott- has anyone taken it harder than him? Perhaps only Jean herself. He is ruined, a drone moving through his daily actions until someone lets him sit by her side. He doesn't bother to shave, giving him a rugged shadow on his face at all times. His hair is mussed, as are his clothes (which he only remembers to change a few times a week- when isn't his mind on her?). He goes days without showering or eating, until someone pulls him aside and forces him to do any of these things.

Back to Kitty, the small brunette stroking her friend's hand unconsciously. She jumps as footsteps interrupt her.

"Kit, you should go get some sleep." She's surprised to see her room mate in front of her, gently pulling her hand off Jean's. "I'll take it from here- well, 'till Scott gets here. Then I'm coming to bed too."

Kitty is grateful for the guiltless release, and leaps to her feet. She very nearly kisses her friend's cheek, but stops herself in time to pull her into a tight hug inconspicuously.

"Get going!" Rogue snaps. "Lord knows that if you don't sleep soon, you'll be the bitchiest room mate on the planet."

Kitty just grins, and leaves. She knows Rogue, and knows her ways of seeming aloof. She is a good friend, and she's glad to have the stoic girl to help her through the ordeal with Jean. Shaking her head sleepily, she considers grabbing an apple on the way upstairs, but decides it's too much trouble.

As the tiny girl tucks herself between soft sheets, the replacement sits in the chair gingerly. Her eyes swiftly travel the redhead's sleeping form, and she sighs softly.

"I'm sorry, Jean." She whispers. "I wish I had done something."

She leans down on her elbows, trying to ignore the stinging of tears.

"I'm so sorry. This is my fault." She blinks, and warm tears trickle down her cheeks. "I should have warned someone, should have-"

She breaks down, loud hiccupping sobs tearing out of her chest. Large tears roll down her cheeks, her eyes puffed and red. She buries her head in her hands, trying to stifle the sobs that just grow louder when she tries to soften them.

"I'm s-so sorry, J-Jean!" She weeps. "I-I'll tell you soon, I p-promise."

But she cannot control the tears. Oh, what possibly could she have had to do with all this? All will be revealed later, but for now- she's not alone.

He watches from behind his red lenses, watching through the window as she falls apart. They were never very close (that is, Jean and Rogue- he has always been close to both), so he cannot fathom why the girl would let it get to her so much. But she weeps nevertheless, snotty and puffy red, fat tears rolling down mascara lined cheeks.

"Rogue?"

She looks up, helpless to stop her crying.

"I- um, I need to g-go to bed." She tries to hide her face as she runs from the room, straight to bed, offering nasty looks to anyone that dares to look at her. Anyone that was there two years ago- none of these newest recruits- understand to look away.

"Maybe someone should go talk to her." A blonde suggests, her freckled face alight with sympathy.

"Nah, Paige, trust me- leave her alone." Sam, now a junior (my how they have grown!), tussles the girl's hair. "We all need to grieve."

The girl doesn't understand, and is happy to run off to play with Rhane.

Sam sighs. What will it be like when Jean Grey is gone? It's not like she was even that important to him in the past. But she was always there, offering a comforting word or smile when he needed it, and when she's gone- who can replace her? Her illness has put a gloom over the Institute, at least in the X-Men and New X-Men (what? He knows very well that it's a ridiculous name, but they let Ray and Roberto name their team when new recruits kept coming.) halls. It's a perpetual darkness, an unavoidable depression that has overcome them all.

An Asian girl looks curiously at him, purple hair framing her face. What is her name? Betty- no, Betsy something? He can't recall, but he can remember her telepathy. Being that, as a senior member (despite the fact that she is older than he), he really needs to just deal and move on. He offers a smile, and then walks away.

"… can't help but wonder why they're all so upset…" He hears her murmur to some other girl- a blonde with blue eyes (Carol Danther? He cannot remember their names). They have only been here for six months- Jean was confined to bed by that point, of course they don't understand.

Now, she is not his only focus- oh God, no! He was not very close to her. But, any time he thinks of her, he goes to be alone. She is important to him in her own way, and he wishes she were well. It's a horrible death, and she seems so kind-hearted. What did the girl that only offered a smile ever do to deserve this?

"Sam!" He snaps himself away from grief and sadness as Jubilee calls him over. He's happy to help her track down Bobby, sure- anything to forget grief.

Now, who shall we follow? Not Rogue- no, her tears can be a mystery unraveled later. Nor Kitty- the brunette has been asleep since her head touched the pillow fifteen minutes ago. Sam is only off to search for a friend.

Scott Summers sits on the edge of her bed, grasping her hand, waiting for her to wake up. Some days, it's not so bad. Some days, he can laugh and smile with her as Kitty rattles on about Britney Spears and her new hair cut and tattoos, be content to sit through Jubilee talking about the strangest things. But that day, he can see how ill she is, and cannot help the bout of self-pity overtaking him.

He kisses her fingers. He is frustrated, because he cannot save her. Not this time, not like he always has before. Oh, he thought they had more _time_! But, it seems they don't have much more. If only he had known long ago, he could have stopped it from happening! But how could anyone have known? If anyone had, he or she would have _done _something before it was too late.

But it is too late. Jean is dying, another number lost to the "AIDS epidemic" (how can it be called an epidemic if he never hears of it?). He doesn't want her to be just a number, but what can he do? No one is going to make her life into a movie, and she wouldn't want that anyway. She would have preferred the anonymity, sure that someone far more deserving could have the publicity.

But she was the most deserving! He knew it, and yet he never could convince her of it. No, his precious Jean couldn't see what he saw.

"Scott, I'm sorry." Dr. McCoy says softly, gently touching the boy's shoulder. Scott says nothing, just continues to watch her. "Go rest, take a shower, eat. She'll be fine."

She won't be fine! Doesn't the good doctor see that Scott Summers cannot waste another minute? He has to spend all his time with her, so he'll know he did everything he could! One look from Hank tells him that the blue man knows exactly what he's thinking and that it won't fly.

He heads upstairs drearily, leaving Hank alone with the redhead.

"What a ruckus you've stirred." He smiles forlornly. "Not that I'm surprised. You're a very beloved girl."

With that, he returns to his work and lets the resting girl enjoy a peaceful sleep.

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**There's the update! The POV's gonna switch around a lot, so if that bugs you, warn me. I can't help it- it seems to match. Anyway, these are almost like vignettes (only in chronological order, somewhat). **

**Bye!**


	4. Chapter 4: Phoenix

**_Hey!_ I haven't been at my best lately, and I just could make myself write. But, here I am, with a brand new chapter for y'all! Now, just a forewarning, Jean may seem OOC in this chapter. Part of this is due to the Phoenix. In my version (as I find it too complicated to try to do the whole crystal die thingie), the Phoenix is the raw power Xavier locked up when he first met her in the comics. As Jean's powers grow, and she learns to control herself, she accidentally allows the entity free. That's it. Very similar to the movie, I know. Anyway, the Phoenix would be pretty bitter towards Xavier for locking her away so long. The other part is due to Jean growing and changing as a person. She's begun to realize no one's perfect, not even her precious surrogate father. And I think that fear manifests itself as anger and depressions, because she isn't used to being afraid. However, if you see any problems with this, feel free to point it all out to me and help me explain things better/help me fix it.**

**Anyway, I apologize for the long wait. It was not so nice of me. I was swamped, and once I wasn't, I couldn't bring myself to write. Didn't feel like it. This came out differently than I thought it would, but... Anyway, this story shouldn't be too long. There is no set amount of chapters. I think that next chapter is going to focus on everyone else again, just because I really like the perspective.**

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_How did I come to this?_

_How did I slip and fall?_

_How did I through half a lifetime away,_

_Without any thought at all?_

- "I Know the Truth" (Aida, performed by Sherie Rene Scott)

**Chapter Four : Phoenix**

I don't think I ever thought about that stupid night with the beer for a few more years. I found myself happier with life. I had wonderful friends and a perfectly normal (if not slightly on the dumb side) boyfriend. I was the star soccer player, the most athletic, the girl with the best grades and even better advice for those that needed it.

Even after mutants were revealed, I didn't turn back to the alcohol. I still had my friends from the Institute, and the occasional old friend that hadn't completely turned her back on me. Granted, life was a little harder for me, but I was perfect Jean. I could handle it easily. If anything, it proved my endurance. I was one of the very first mutants to graduate high school out in the open. How many people could claim that they managed to do that with straight A's, even after the accusations of cheating?

No, no, it was after Apocalypse that I found myself yearning for that sweet relief. You must understand- it hurts like a bitch to feel like the whole world is turning its back on you, even someone you thought you could trust. I still remember the burning feeling of his sharp eyes on me as he spoke of the closest friend turned evil. When he, my surrogate father, the man that practically raised me, could barely stand to touch me, I knew something was wrong.

You cannot possibly know that feeling unless you have once felt it. You cannot possibly understand that low feeling of losing the trust of someone close to you unless it has happened. You can't even imagine the awful feelings of betrayal and loneliness when the first person to be kind to you since your best friend's death, since the discovery of your powers, turns his back on you.

With his eyes meeting mine, so dark and serious and closed, as he spoke of such a terrible thing, I knew sorrow.

I can still remember the day I met him, the day I stopped crying and screaming. Those few days were a flash- laughter, Annie Richardson's broken little body on the pavement and the screech of tires. Screams, raw and painful, and tears, and someone trying to pull me away as I held her broken little head. Somehow, hands unable to reach me, somehow alone and shrieking and unable to move on. And then he came, and I was safe.

But that betrayal stung. And the soft hug offered met with a strained, fearful touch. I still can't stand the very thought of it.

That night, while everyone was celebrating, sulking, or helping the former Acolytes to move in (which, in itself, is too long a story to recall here), I found a six pack of Logan's beer. At first, I just went to hide it so Bobby or Roberto couldn't get into it. But, as I was walking, I remembered the awful feeling of the professor's eyes locking onto me as he delivered such a cruel decree, the strained, fearful feeling of his hands on my back, and I knew there was no way in hell I could make it through the night without breaking down.

Instead of hiding it, I took it to my room. Sitting on my bed, wallowing in self-pity, I downed the first in about an hour (in my defense, I could hardly stand the bitter taste). They went down quickly after that, leaving me in a drunken stupor after my third bottle.

"Sweet Jesus, Jean," I remember a feminine voice waking me from my delighted sleep. The sweet Southern lilt was comforting, and I let out a soft laugh at the thought of comfort. Comfort the knowledge that the man that once thought of you as a daughter would never turn his back on you, not the sarcastic voice of some girl from the South. Comfort was safety and happiness and love, all the things I couldn't feel anymore. "You could have just celebrated like everyone else downstairs. Who woulda thought you'd be the one doin' this?"

She had lifted me with a soft grunt, and dropped me in a graceless tangle on my bed. A small giggle that felt morel like a sob tumbled out of my chest. I remember an exasperated sigh.

"What're you so sad about, hmm? You never did a single thing wrong. All you ever do is help." She straightened me out roughly. "Sweet, innocent Jean never hurt anything or anyone? I know."

I gurgled out some sort of reply, to which the voice just chuckled.

"Whatever you say, darlin'. Go to sleep. Lord knows I ain't holding your hair back if you need to puke tonight."

A few seconds later, I heard the door click shut and some muffled conversation outside my door. Whoever she was, she must have kept me from trouble, because I was never reprimanded.

Over the next few weeks, things began to get crazy. I felt trapped, stressed, pulled out across the world. And, for some reason, I was the only one. For everyone else, it was a welcome break. Rogue sulked around the mansion, Kitty and Kurt cheered her up or played annoying pranks in the lack of practice. Scott was attentive to me, as a good boyfriend, sweet and gentle.

But Professor Xavier kept a close, hard eye on me at all times. I didn't understand- granted, I was having some difficulties with my powers at the time- and I found myself wallowing in self-pity rather than talking to him.

Which is how, over the next few weeks, I developed a growing appreciation for Guinness. Of course, Logan never really questioned where the beer went. We all assumed Rogue drank, and he trusted her with the drink. Besides, he could afford more. I know others- the newly returned Tabitha, Bobby, Ray, Gambit (damn, I still call him that!)- were obvious choices.

Even then, I was never out of control. Not truly. I was smart, and I sure as hell wasn't addicted. I know, of course, when I changed, but not when my life changed. It's impossible to describe the way I felt, the way I changed. I remember one day when the New Recruits had just come in from a Danger Room session.

"Ugh, Bobby, if you freeze my water one more time, I swear to God that I will totally phase you through a door and leave you there!' Kitty cried out in frustration, thrusting the frozen glass at him. He just laughed. Kitty never carried through on her threats. I glanced up from my studying at the kitchen counter, groaning inwardly as mutants piled into the room. It looked like Kitty and Kurt had been forced into helping Logan train the New Recruits. "Or, I'll, like, make you the official tester for my muffins!" She cried triumphantly. He paled immediately.

"Got it, no more freezing!" He laughed nervously, scooting closer to his girlfriend.

"Bobby, grow a pair!" Jubilee scoffed at him, wiping her brow. She looked over at her peppy friend. "Kitty's muffins are not gonna kill you."

"Then you eat 'em!" He raised an eyebrow.

"What?" She stared at him. "I'm not suicidal!"

I shot them a glare (granted, it was not exactly threatening) from my books. I was trying to read for my biology class at the university. Naturally, they all ignored me.

"Shut up, you two!" Kitty scolded them angrily. "It was, like, a joke! They are not that bad!"

"You don't ever eat them!" Bobby accused.

"Well, duh! I'm, like, totally biased towards myself, idiot!" She frowned.

I cleared my throat.

"You guys, I'm trying to study. Please, don't shout." I grimaced. My head was throbbing, I realized as I rubbed my temple. They paid me no heed once more.

"Hey!" Jamie cried as he was jostled into the counter. With a faint popping sound, a dozen more appeared and a groan filled the room.

"Kid, it was crowded enough in here!" Ray glared at him. He stuck his tongue at the older boy.

"Jamie, suck 'em up." Kurt shooed the many clones towards him. "It is too crowded."

"Please, shut up!" I tried again.

"Hey, stop pushing!"

"If you weren't in the way, I would have to push!"

"Ugh!"

I pulled my hand from the book, and touched my pounding temple. My vision was blurring, and I drew in a sharp breath. I felt like fire was jumping down my bones, following the delicate white lines invisibly.

"Pass me the milk, would ya?"

"Nope!"

"Hey!"

CRASH!

All the light bulbs in the room shattered in unison. Immediately, my headache vanished and my vision returned to normal as everyone shut up. The glass from the lights was suspended above us, caught by my telekinesis I suppose.

"O-Oh my God, Jean." Kitty blinked at me. "Why did you do that?"

"I didn't!" I shot back. "Well… I mean, I didn't do it on purpose."

"Okay, kiddies, out of the kitchen. Shoo, now!" Kurt shooed the New Recruits into the living room. He and Kitty had been roped into helping Logan train them, much to their chagrin. He turned around to face me. "So, what happened?"

I shrugged helplessly. It was kind of blurry at that point. I remembered the searing headache, the blurred vision, a feeling of fire spreading through my bones. I remembered confusion and loud noises. And then I remember the feeling of calm once it had gone my way. That wasn't like me.

"I think I'm under a lot of stress," I said softly, choosing my words carefully, "and I lost control for a second. I'm fine now."

And I thought I was. Kitty didn't look very convinced, but Kurt nodded.

"Maybe I should go get the professor, and see if he can help you?" He offered.

I was about to agree, but then I remembered his burning eyes. I remembered his strained, nervous touch. I remembered his avoidance of me ever since we had stopped Apocalypse. I remembered how he watched me if he was in the same room as me, careful eyes. And a voice that was not my own answered.

"No." It spat irritably. Kurt looked surprised. "I'm fine, and I don't need _his_ help!"

"Um… I'm gonna go get him." Kurt vanished in a puff of sulfur.

"Jean, I think you're getting sick or something." Kitty offered me a weak smile. "Maybe he can help."

Help? He wanted nothing to do with me, I though bitterly. He didn't consider me a daughter any longer. He thought I would become an enemy, become an evil force to be destroyed. And, instead of trying to help me or stop me, he was distancing himself so that he could do what he needed to when he had to. And, believing it would never happen, I was furious.

"Like he'd want to!" The voice hissed. I found myself agreeing with it. "He wants nothing to do with me anymore, Kitty. I don't know what I did that was so wrong, but he won't come near me. And if he has to be close to me, he just watches me like I'm a criminal."

She blinked at me. This foreign self, who spoke bitterly and wallowed in self pity, was nothing like my usual self. I was surprised. Why would I say that to her? I didn't truly believe it- I was just a little upset, but I knew he wasn't like that.

"I'm sorry, Kitty. You know I don't mean that. I'm just stressed." I smiled weakly. I was myself again. "I didn't mean to worry you." She visibly relaxed, and gave an easy smile.

"Jean, are you quite alright?" A smooth voice questioned. It was him, of course, that damn man that thought I was such a threat! I blinked, surprised at the thought. I wasn't like that! Still, as I turned to look at him, I didn't feel the usual warm care I felt for him. I instead felt angry and bitter, the very thought of this man that considered him so damn good and wonderful. I cocked my head briefly.

It was like he was perched on some pedestal, some high place I could never hope to reach, where he dolled out his advice and judgments without care. I wondered if he would like the man I saw now. I found I didn't really care what he thought, so proud and judging and high and mighty!

"I'm fine. It was just an accident." I smiled at him, suddenly very aware that I was equal to him and no one ever knew it. He cocked his head, and glanced at the glass still suspended above us. I had forgotten about it. I dumped it all in the trashcan with a flick of my wrist, and stared at him.

"You really must control yourself, Jean." He rebutted softly. I felt him gently probing my mind, and I was suddenly very angry. With a scowl, I shoved him out. He looked surprised, and I smiled. How's that pedestal now, Charles? I nearly voiced the thought, but stopped myself. That was disrespectful, rude. I wasn't like that.

"I usually do. I'll do better." I said, as if I hadn't just pushed the world's most telepath out of my mind.

"I know." He said carefully. "But I would like it if we had daily sessions, to work on your powers and make sure you aren't going to have another power surge."

And, somehow, I was sure that he wanted to lock a part of me in the back of my mind, where I couldn't get to it. And I didn't want that. I wanted the power that he would take from me. I wanted to be in control, I wanted to be strong and powerful. I wanted to be perfect Jean, with powers no one could argue with. I wanted to be the girl I was once, so perfect and in control and reliable. Instead, I was relying on alcohol to get me through the hard times. I relied on a bottle, a little drink, to make it through.

Pathetic!

"Jean, have you been listening?" Xavier met my eyes. I said nothing, eyes defiant in a way I never have been in my life. I wasn't myself. I was a rebellious being I had never known, and it scared me. I looked at him again, eyes softened and scared. He had control again.

He, high above me, impossible to reach. He, the man that thought he was so much better than me and better than everyone else. I would show him. I could destroy him, destroy them, with a flick of my wrist. Then, would they be laughing? I doubted it.

Wait, no, those weren't my thoughts. But I can't explain that right now.

As his eyes met mine one last time, I heard one word echo in my mind.

_Phoenix._

"She's waking up, Scott. Leave her be for a while." I hear Hank murmur distantly.

"No, I'll sit with her." Scott's voice gently caresses my ears. I smile, glad to wake up to such a loving person by my side. I am rarely alone these days, but I don't mind like I thought I might. Company is nice most of the time, because it keeps my mind off of self pity.

"You're awake?"

"Mm-hmm." I nod, ignoring the painful pull on my muscles. I am always stiff when I wake up, most likely from the weird position I sleep in. But I don't like lying down flat. It bothers me for some reason.

"Good." And then there is silence, and I am floating in limbo. My grip on Scott's hand keeps me from toppling over the edge. If this is insanity, I was wrong all along.

And I keep remembering that day, when all I could hear was the echo in my mind.

_Phoenix.

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**So, how was it? I'd like to know. It may still be a little rough- I only got one solid edit on it before I posted it. Enjoy!**


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